


Eye for an Eye.

by SkiesOverTokyo



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, M/M, Pretty Much Henry's Intro Level., Subtext and HOW, gratuituous battles, may result writng this at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:36:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7405762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkiesOverTokyo/pseuds/SkiesOverTokyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cracky Henry/Chrom. WIP.<br/>Some mild OOC, dialog's largely from Henry's intro level.<br/>Abandoned, may continue at some point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye for an Eye.

“The sweetness of love is short-lived, but the pain endures.”

-Thomas Mallory, _De Morte D’Arthur._  
  
  


They form up, the band arming themselves. The horses shift, uneasily.

_There is something out there_. Something beyond the next hill, and the one behind. Risen.

_He was a fool to have let them creep up on him_ , Chrom thinks.

He stands close to Robin, shielding the shorter man, still shaken by bad dreams and premonitions and fear, falchion glittering in the moonlight. Around them, in a half-ring, the rest of the Shepherds stand ready, spears and swords and bows and books primed.

Silence.

Darkness.

Out of the blackness of a starless sky, something moves.  
A clattering of wings, the dark feathers catching the firelight.

Crows, innumerable.

A murder.

On the prowl for carrion, they come, hurtling into view.

They are almost upon the Shepherds when a laugh, high and amused, echoes from within the cloud of feathers and talons and beaks.

A cruel cold peal that seems to stab like a knife.

Suddenly, they scatter, flowing like water around, through and over the camp, like a bait-ball suddenly ripped open by a shark or whale or some other monstrosity of the deep, and they perch everywhere, on trees, swords, heads, hats.

The stench of carrion is suddenly everywhere, and Lissa almost gags, shooing the fat bird off her staff with an irritated wave, whilst Nowi hops atop Gregor’s shoulders, shooing off the birds with wild flails of her arms. Oddly, the birds even seem to be roosting atop Kellam’s armoured shoulders

They settle, heads all facing in the direction they’ve come.

Waiting for something.

 

Suddenly, a figure stands there, as the final few crows settle upon him, a soft grin spreading across pale, refined features as he surveys the crow-strewn scene. His hair is positively iridescent, reflecting the firelight, a shock of brilliantly white hair that’s almost the colour of a midwinter moon. Most notable is the smile, a wide grin that seems practically plastered to his face.

His voice is surprisingly high for someone who’s made such a dramatic entrance, and as he speaks, he becomes steadily less intimidating.

“Are you folks lost? Or perhaps a lost CAWs? Heh ha!”

Even that laugh seems less intimidating.

He takes a step closer, and the firelight reveals a heavy purple cloak, dark grey clothing.

Gold eyes glitter on the high collar of the cloak.

“Plegian spy!”

As one, the group move, weapons trained on the newcomer. Even Tharja hastily flips through the weighty tome she has in her arms, and starts muttering

Chrom raises the falchion, pointing it for a second at the figure, before Robin pushes his arm back down.

“Come on Chrom. He’s just a kid. A kid with a terrible sense of humour and company if his friends are anything to go by.”

Chrom sighs softly, and nods, as the white-haired young man continues, somehow unaware of just how close he’s come to being just another corpse

“What's wrong? CAW-strophobic? Nya ha ha! Oh, I slay me!”  
He takes another step forward, and the crows nearest him take flight back into the air. Though he can’t see Chrom’s gritted teeth, Robin certainly can, as he replies

“Not if these Risen do it first! This is no time for japes! Hide yourself, boy!”

  
By now the figure is standing just in front of Sully, who gives him a mistrustful look, and as Chrom talks, he cocks his head, a confused expression sliding across those fine features, white eyebrows knotted a little, before it is gone again, in that oddly infectious smile, as though not smiling is somehow painful to him.

“You know, I thought you were all right... Turns out you're all FRIGHT!”  
Chrom groans softly at this as though _he_ ’s in pain, though only Robin and Frederick catch their leader’s increasing exasperation. The white haired young man seems to find this particular pun hilarious, practically doubled over, before he straightens up. That smile is still on his lips, and Chrom begins to think of a doll Lissa once had with an similarly perpetual smirk. He shivers, but the figure is practically lost in his one-man battlefield standup routine

“I'd wish you good luck killing these monsters, buuuuuut... They're ALREADY DEAD!”

Another laugh, and this time the menace is back in it, cold and high.  
Chrom finally loses his temper and, shrugging Robin’s hand off his shoulder, storms towards the newcomer. He’s practically nose-to-nose with him before Frederick and Sully manage to stop him,

“We are _well_ aware of that!” he snaps.

The figure paused, lifting a hand to bring a particularly large black bird to his left ear, and nods a couple of times as the bird croaks hoarsely.

“The ravens wanted me to give you a message. "Caaw... C-caw-caw.””  
He nods to himself, the smile becoming…somehow more contemplative, though not lost from his face.

“Roughly translated, it means... Hmm, now what was the human word for that again?”  
He turns his attention back to the bird, as it caws again  
“ ...Traipse?”

A different caw.  
“...Tripe?”  
A third, as though the bird is correcting him.  
“Oh, TRAPPED!”

His grin widens, pleased with himself.

“Right! ...They say you're trapped.”

Chrom struggles against his friends, trying to push Frederick out of the way, then relents, still glaring down at the figure. There’s a flicker of fear among the exasperated looks, Robin notes. Chrom may be getting increasingly incensed with this stranger, but they’re wasting time…

“We know, damn it! Gods... Where did they all come from?”  
The figure grins up, with a knowing expression, fingers idly stroking the feathers of the bird.

“Well, see, when a mommy zombie and a daddy zombie love each other very much... Nya ha ha!”  
Chrom practically drags Frederick and Sully half a yard, yelling down at the perpetually smiling stranger.

“Perhaps I should save the Risen the trouble and silence you myself!

For a few scant seconds, the Lord’s strength threatens to break his restrainers,  
Then Robin is there, pushing Chrom backwards, boots digging into the cold earth. He stands there, beside the stranger for a second, breath ragged.

“Chrom, we’re…wasting time. Let’s deal with him…later. Ok? There are plenty of hours for mano-el-mano when we don’t have a pack of Risen threatening to make this mano-el-mano-el…monster.”

He trails off, and the white haired figure stands there for a second, examining what seems like the entire group, the murder steadily leaving their perches to clatter and caw in the night sky above.  His eyes seem to linger most on Chrom and Robin, and the leader of the Shepherds feels…an unsettling feeling, as though the entire flock of crows accompany him in this, calculating how long their bodies will sustain them, how much flesh they can scavenge once the Risen are done with them…  
Finally, he seems to come to a decision, the grin widening, becoming…oddly warm and genuine rather than the fixed one that never seems to reach his narrowed eyes.

“Hey, wait! I want to join your CAWs”  
Chrom pulls a face as though someone has just suggested he eat rotting apples, though Robin isn’t quite sure whether this is due to the pun or the suggestion. Chrom is about to say something when he continues in that cheery tone  
“ I mean, I can help you! I know magic! What do you say... Birds of a feather and all that?”  
He holds out a hand, the fingers long, almost bony, but, Robin is surprised to see, entirely unmarked by bird claws. The large raven shifts, climbing up his shoulder, to perch and peer up at Chrom.

Chrom hesitates.

 

_He’s a spy. He must be. And even if he’s not, he’s either a traitor or touched in the head…One Plegian mage in this army is surely enough…right? Not that I particularly trust Tharja but at least she’s proved herself a worthy ally…And if I hear another of his jokes I think I’m going to throttle him. But…we need fighters. Anyone is better than nothing…and I suppose having someone who can seemingly understand ravens might give us a decent head-start against ambushes…_

“Those robes... A Plegian dark mage? ...Why would you help us?”

The white haired man gives him his best smile yet; it’s practically a beam of pride.

“Oh, don't let all the joking around fool ya--I've got kind of a thing for killing.”

Chrom sighs and grabs his hand, shaking it.  
“Fine. Welcome to the Shepherds…”  
“Henry. With a y. As in, “you’d better get a move on if you want to wake up tomorrow with all your limbs in the right places”!”  
He lets go of Chrom’s hand, and takes a step back, turning to look out over the field around them.  
Figures are moving, shambling towards them, but that chatty tone, that soft, high voice continues as though nothing worse than a bunch of children are wandering towards them, and a book, is suddenly in his hands, the fingers flickering.

“Most funny people do, you know. I should know.”

The raven takes flight, a loud caw. Either way, victory or defeat for the group below, it’s going to have a full stomach by sunrise. The stranger takes a few steps forward, the rest of the group hastily rearming themselves, remounting horses, re-cocking arrows, restarting incantations, as he continues to talk, practically to himself.

“The two things must be linked somehow. Ever talk to a jester when he's off duty?”  
He laughs aloud, and a deafening caw echoes it

“Those guys are some sick dastards!”

A few muttered words under his breath

“… _RUIN!_ ”

  
Purple fire erupts, scoring across the field, the explosion catapulting a particularly brutish Risen into the sky, before a second yell of “FIRE!” ignites at least half a dozen more. His laughter is even louder than their distorted, animalistic screams. He pauses, almost admiring the carnage, taking in every element of what he has wrought; the stench of burning flesh, the ghostly purple flames, the screams. He murmurs three words to himself, with a soft, amused smile, as the cavalry crashes past

“Have some death.”

And all hell breaks loose. Spells cannon past, Virion’s arrows with them. Another three Risen fall, before Chrom , Vaike, Stahl and Frederick collide with their sundered front line, in a crash of steel on steel. Another four Risen are practically hacked in half, Vaike shoulder-barging into one with such force that his axe is barely needed. Sumia and Cordelia encircle the Risen in the air, whilst Cherche takes a rather more direct approach, Minerva practically skimming the ground as she sends Risen scattering, before the wyvern slams a mounted Risen and their horse sidewards, the animal’s neck snapping with a sickening yet satisfying crack. Even Nowi, still perched upon Gregor’s shoulder, launches herself, scant metres from combat, from the huge mercenary’s shoulders into the attack, transforming in mid-air and sending a burst of fire across their ranks as she lands.

It is, Henry notes, like watching a well-oiled mechanism go about its purpose, every part performing its role; Robin is everywhere, sword flickering here and there, his sword and tome turning the tide of battle wherever it is weakest back in favour of the Shepherds, yelling commands and gesturing as he goes.

The tall girl, the other Plegian deserter wanders over as Henry sets off across the battlefield, demolishing a mounted Risen with a hissed mutter. For a few seconds, they walk alongside each other, her looking him up and down, before she eventually mutters,

“I know you.”  
She closes her tome and stows it under her arm  
“When I still fought for Plegia, we heard all sorts of stories about you. A silver-haired youth with a knowledge of curses and an extraordinary gift for magic.”  
A crow lands on his shoulder, a Risen’s eyeball in its beak, and she gives it a cursory glance.  
“ A man guarded by fierce crows so that very few had seen the true extent of his powers.”

_Ah._

He’d hoped that he’d not find someone from home this far out, but the more the merrier.

He gives her what he hopes is a friendly smile, before replying

“Oh wow! Now that's a reputation! Yeah, crows have always had a thing for me, I guess. Dunno why.”

She draws close, conspiratorial, so close that Henry can practically smell blood and smoke on her, her voice is barely above a whisper, close to his ear. Maybe…too close.

“Perhaps you'd be willing to teach a trick or two to a fellow dark mage”

She gives him a smile, even falser than his own, and Henry decides that this girl is not overly _friendly at all_. Still, first impressions are a tricky thing, and he humours her.  
“Sure! You want me to cast a death curse on someone?”  
She gives him a withering look.  
“Not a death curse exactly… What's with the smiling, anyway? No one's going to trust you if you're grinning like the village idio-”.

A raven lands suddenly on Henry’s hand, and she takes a step back, muttering something under her breath, giving him another strange look. She turns, stalking towards the battlefield, re-arming herself.  
_Something isn’t quite right here_ , Henry realises.  They’re meant to be surrounding them, a trap closing shut inch by inch and yard by yard. Risen may not be the brightest sparks-in fact, they’re quite literally brain-dead- but their lack of intelligence is made up for by their cunning.

The raven caws.  
_Castles…hiding. Small kill brings bigger predator brings big kill._

What a trap needs…

Is bait.

 

He finds Robin surprisingly quickly, despite the continuing fight. He’s standing, breathing hard, whilst Chrom dispatches wounded Risen. Lissa stomps to and fro, healing people, occasionally pulling the more battle-weary out of harm’s way as her brother storms into the breach. Robin gives him a cursory look, a faint smile.  
“You’re ok…that’s a relief. I was starting to worry whether Chrom had “accidently” done something with you…”  
“Nya ha ha! Nope! I'm completely fine”

Robin nods. It seems that he’s rather more adept with people than Chrom seems to be. Chrom wanders back over, cleaning his sword, and resheathes it.  
“You were saying it was a trap? Some trap. Birdbrain…”

 

Henry is about to say something regarding the size of bird brains, and the intelligence of ravens and crows in particular when one of the birds overhead, clearly overeager in its greediness, drops an arm, which lands on Robin’s shoulder.

Robin promptly nearly screams, throwing the rotting arm from his shoulder with a disgusted shrug. Henry takes a step forward, and crouches, poking the arm with a single finger. He straightens up.

“It’s armless. Armless! Get it? Nyaa he he…”  
The raven on his shoulder caws loudly, as it and several other birds dive on the arm. Their gluttony recalls his previous revelation, and he addresses Robin  
“Oh! Those ravens also said to keep an eye on those fortresses. It’s like this arm. Gorge ourselves on this arm as the rest of the body lets us stuff ourselves…then…”  
He slams his boot down and the arm breaks bloodily in half, before he wipes his foot off on the grass.  
“Spat! If you're nearby when more monsters emerge, it could CAWs quite a stir!”

Robin nods firmly, and begins rapidly drawing on a piece of parchment, mapping out the area with expert skill.  
“So, here, here, and…here?”

He points at each tower, stark against the black sky, then at the map.  
Henry nods, and is about to move away from Robin when Chrom steps up, giving him an appraising look.  
“Robin, how do we know that this isn’t more lies from this Plegian fool?”  
Robin shoots him a glance, then folds the map.  
“Chrom, we’re attacking every tower at once. Element of surprise.  Frederick will command one group, you the second, myself the third. It will work, trust me on this. But we need to move fast. Henry, it’s your…birds that are able to find this out, so…you’re coming with m-”  
“He’s coming with me. I don’t trust him alone with you.”  
“So losing you to a potential assassin is fine?”  
“Stahl and Vaike will be with me. He won’t get far.”  
Henry grins at Chrom.  
“Don’t worry! I won’t stab anyone in the back! Or the front. Or the side. Unless you ask me to…”

 

Every yard to the castle is a hard won fight uphill. Vaike’s favourite axe gets stuck in a particularly bloated Risen’s sternum, and for a few minutes, he’s practically fighting the deepening crowds with his fists, slamming his bulk into Risen like an enraged bull. Sumia is sent sprawling from her mount, and it’s only a quick-thinking Cordelia that rescues the unconcious girl from a horde of the creatures. By the time they reach the outer wall of the castle, no-one has been spared injury, Chrom hastily ripping a section off a blanket to bandage a head-wound whilst Vaike and Stahl hold off the grasping hands and sharp teeth. Henry himself is slammed off his feet and rolls nearly a dozen yards back down-hill before he regains his balance, winded and scratched, charging back uphill with rage coursing through his system, and a laugh on his smiling lips, a real smile this time.

_This felt good. Really good. The stench of blood, the to and fro of battle, the satisfying crunch of Risen limbs and the heat of burning corpses._

_I haven’t felt this alive in years_.

Taking the castle is even harder, and by the time the usurping inhabitants have been put to the sword, some are struggling to stand. Even Chrom, sturdy throughout most of the struggle, is leaning just a little heavier on his sword than usual, as he stomps up the steps to the top of the keep, Henry following in his wake. There’s something of the heroes of yore in him, powerful, quick to anger, certainly, but an inner strength normal men simply do not possess.

   
_Perfect._

 

 


End file.
